


Late Night Encounters

by paperxcrowns



Series: Brittle Heart [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Red Hood: Lost Days, Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Accidental Brother Acquisition, Alfred is mentioned, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Neglect, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Jack and Janet Drake's A+ Parenting, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason is a bookworm, Tim Drake is Robin, Tim Drake-centric, ao3 why isn't this a tag, bruce wayne and dick grayson are mentioned, i have a bone to pick with canon, i took a lot of liberties with the titans tower scene, no beta we die like jason todd, they are not seen, they're both idiots and i love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29096001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperxcrowns/pseuds/paperxcrowns
Summary: Not long after Jason comes back to Gotham and asserts himself as the Red Hood, Tim meets Jason in a diner late at night and by some miracle he doesn't recognize him. After another chance meeting where Jason still doesn't make the connection between him and Robin, Tim decides that this might just his chance to get to know Jason Todd.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Brittle Heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141778
Comments: 34
Kudos: 620
Collections: Red Hood vs Red Robin





	1. Chapter 1

Tim was having a long week.

High school was turning out to be much harder than he first anticipated and he was only in _ninth grade._ Granted, he was in all AP classes. The next three years were decidedly going to _decimate_ him. He’d had to switch out sleep with homework most days this past week and tonight would be no different. 

He’d gone to bed at four every night that week, he was still healing from two fractured ribs, and he’d been trying to dispel a nagging headache for three hours now. His homework for the week was starting to pile up, but he supposed the recent Arkham breakout on Tuesday was a good excuse as to why he still hadn’t written the To Kill a Mockingbird analysis essay due Friday for his AP English class. Or that map of Eastern Europe highlighting the natural resources found in each country for his AP Human Geography class also due Friday. And he was fairly sure he also had to do something for AP Biology. 

Arkham breakouts were a good excuse for Bruce as to why he wasn’t up to date on his homework, but it sure wasn’t for his parents. They expected him to excel in every class, and he _wasn’t_ getting himself a C because Bane decided to terrorize a few people downtown. 

Tim stared up at the red and yellow neon sign that glittered overhead, proudly named “Pepper’s Diner”. 

He’d never heard about it before, he’d just passed by one night at four in the morning and found it still lit up and relatively empty. He’d ordered a coffee before heading home, and now, a week later, he was standing in front of that very same diner, out of his Robin costume and with his school bag slung over one shoulder. 

He breathed in, lies already prepared if a waitress asked what he was doing here at half-past one in the morning, and pushed the door open.

The bell dinged and Tim quickly darted to the booth table most out of sight. He slid into the booth and set his bag next to him. His eyes skimmed the menu while he pulled out his notebook and pencil case.

“Hello,” a waitress said and Tim looked sharply. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Um…” he focused on the menu, scanning the list of drinks. “I’ll take the s’mores milkshake, please,” he said, eyeing her nervously, waiting for her to ask him why he was here, all alone, at this time, but she said nothing.

“Okay, let me know when you’re ready to order.”

She left quickly, a hand rubbing over her face. Maybe she was too tired to question why he was here. Maybe she was assuming he was a very short and scrawny college student. The diner was close to Crime Alley, so maybe that was why she hadn’t questioned him. 

The last time Tim had tried to do his work in a diner after patrol so he wouldn’t have to do them in an empty and cold house, he had been kicked out. He didn’t know if it was because they had a policy against serving kids without adults at three in the morning, or if they thought Tim was bad news, but he hadn’t appreciated it either way.

The waitress came back with his milkshake just as he was starting his introduction and he ordered chicken nuggets.

And he got to work. The waitress brought him his chicken nuggets and glanced at the book sitting next to his milkshake

“Good luck,” she told him before letting him work. 

He sure was going to need luck if he was going to finish his essay _and_ his map _and_ that short exercise in one night. He’d need to divide his work. He’d work on the essay and the map tonight since they were major grades and he couldn’t afford to be sloppy, and he’d catch an hour of sleep and do the biology exercise on the bus or during lunch since he had the class in sixth period. 

He worked meticulously and checked his phone to keep track of the time maybe once too many times. 

By four, he was done with the essay, his head was still pulsing in pain and his hand was cramping. He quickly shoved his English paper and the book back in his bag and pulled out his Human Geography textbook and colored pencils. 

He was glad he’d at least already sketched the outline of it. He was definitely not in the right state of mind to trace out countries and borders, so really all he had to do was copy the information in his textbook back onto the map and make a legend and then he could go home and finally, _finally_ get some rest.

Bruce was giving him Friday night and the rest of the weekend off since his parents were due to come back Saturday. And probably because Bruce felt guilty. Tim only went out with Robin three times a week on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays and he’d been out with Batman every day until crazy hours trying to catch everyone who’d escaped Arkham.

He was so focused on his work he paid little attention to the bell ringing cheerfully or the shape that moved in front of his field of vision, assuming it was the waitress here to ask him if he needed anything else. 

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” a deep voice asked.

Tim almost dropped his pen. 

He looked up only to come face to face with Jason Todd. Second Robin. Red Hood. He glanced around in alarm, but none of the waitresses or the other patrons seemed in the least bit worried. He didn't even really know what he'd been expecting since Jason was in his civilian clothes, no red helmet or guns in sight.

He looked back up at Jason, how painfully familiar he looked and yet how unrecognizable. His face was still the same shape, his hair the same color, and if Tim hadn’t spent years chasing after Robin and Batman with his camera, he probably wouldn’t have known this was Jason. He was older, nineteen, now. And much taller, not quite as tall as Bruce, or as big, but close enough. 

There were details Tim had missed when he’d briefly seen Jason without his helmet. His black hair was run through with a streak of white and his eyes were more green, and almost glowed the longer Tim stared at them.

He and Bruce had looked into Red Hood when he’d showed up. They’d even faced off a couple of times. But it was only Tim Drake who’d accidentally glimpsed Red Hood-- safely from the height of a building and taking pictures of Gotham at night-- pull off his helmet to reveal Jason Todd, very much alive, and very much older than he’d been when he’d died. 

Tim’s mouth was hanging open. He closed it, at a complete loss for what to say.

Did he manage to find the one diner the undead Robin frequented? That would be just Tim’s luck.

“I have homework,” he managed to say without stuttering. 

Both of Jason’s eyebrows crept up his forehead. “And you’re doing it now? At four in the morning in a diner?”

Tim scowled. “I’ll be done soon if I can actually go back to doing it.”

Jason chuckled and sat in the booth seat opposite of Tim. 

Tim opened his mouth again. “I need to _work,”_ he hissed, glancing at the waitresses. “I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

Red Hood had proven time and time again his hatred for Batman and Robin. And he seemed _especially_ fond of hurting him. He called it justice and revenge. Tim called it dumb and annoying because recovery was a _bitch_ and so was school. So sue Tim for being a little nervous that Jason might know who he was and had come here to lure him back to somewhere Jason would hold him hostage to taunt Batman. If that was the case, Tim was willing to negotiate they push it back to Monday. 

“Hate to break it to you, but this is my booth,” Jason said.

Tim blinked. “Well, your name wasn’t on it, so this isn’t on me.”

Jason chuckled but didn’t move. Tim felt a little nervous and apprehensive because Red Hood was literally sitting across from him and because he doubted he could concentrate with someone staring at him. He really wanted to get that one hour of sleep before school.

“I ain’t here to bother you, kid,” he said. “I had a long night and I needed something familiar.”

“Isn’t there….another booth?” Tim squeaked out, heat creeping up his cheeks.

Jason hummed. “There are. Because, surprisingly, not many people show up to a diner at four in the morning,” Jason replied drily, giving Tim a curious look. 

Tim had kept tabs on Red Hood after their first encounter with the help of Babs. it hadn’t taken long to figure out that Hood’s goal was to keep Crime Alley in check and to keep an iron grip on the crime lords that used to run rampant. However he’d gotten them to listen to him, it had been effective. The death toll of innocent bystanders, especially that of children, had dramatically decreased since Hood showed up. It made sense that Red Hood had seen a kid alone at a diner at this ungodly hour and had probably assumed the worst.

Tim shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he assured Jason. “I’m not from nearby, and I can take care of myself.”

Jason snorted and waved a waitress over before Tim could reply.

“I’ll have a strawberry milkshake,” he said. “And the kid’ll have an apple pie.”

Tim had taken the opportunity to go back to making his legend but stopped abruptly and looked back up.

“How do you know I’m not allergic to apples?” he asked.

Jason snorted. “Are you?”

Tim pursed his lips. “No.”

“There ya go.”

Tim sighed and focused back on his work. He checked the time on his phone. It was almost four-thirty. He was _so close._

The waitress came back with Jason’s order and Tim barely registered Jason thanking her.

He only had to label two more countries and he’d be done. 

“Jeez, that looks tough,” Jason said.

Tim held back his growl of frustration. “It is. I need to finish this.”

He hadn’t even bothered to look up. He was so tired and his headache was distractingly painful, pounding against his forehead. He had Advil at home. He’d take some.

Tim violently snapped his textbook shut seconds after finishing the map.

“I hate AP classes,” he said, glaring at the offending textbook.

Jason laughed. “You should be more grateful,” he said. “Not everyone gets to go to school.”

Tim’s shoulders sagged. “I suppose not.”

Jason was slurping his milkshake annoyingly loud and when Tim finally leaned back against his seat he noticed the dark purple bruises peeking from the collar of his hoodie and the white bandage rolled around his left wrist, that he was clearly trying to hide by letting the cuffs of the hoodie rest up to his knuckles.

“So you gonna tell me why a kid like you is doing their homework at a diner in Crime Alley instead of at home?” he asked, his posture completely relaxed, his tone mellow, as if he were talking about the latest movie he’d seen. “Clearly you ain’t homeless. Clearly, you go to school. Clearly, you got money.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “I need to go home. What’s it to you?”

His relaxed posture stiffened slightly and his eyes flashed just a bit brighter. “If you’re in trouble, I know people and places--”

“I don’t _need_ nor _want_ help,” Tim said, cutting Jason off. “My parents are out of town and I didn’t want to do my homework in a-- a--”

A big and empty house, cold because it was still only October and his parents were adamant that Tim try to avoid wasting money. It was ridiculous. They _had_ money, it's not like turning up the thermostat would make any loss of it noticeable. 

Thankfully, Jason dropped the subject. “Fine. Whatever. You need help getting home?”

Tim zipped his bag shut. “I can manage,” he said, then hesitated. 

His eyes fixed on his untouched slice of apple pie and melting vanilla ice cream. He’d already paid for his food several hours ago. 

“I can--uh-- I can pay for that--”

Jason waved his hand. “I ordered it. Don’t worry. I’m not allergic to apples either.”

Tim scowled, his cheeks burning. “It was nice meeting you--”

He stopped himself before he could blurt out Jason’s name. That would be very bad.

“Jay,” he supplied. “I’ll see you around.”

There was a certainty in his tone that made Tim worry Jason had finally pieced together that he _was_ Tim Drake, Robin, Jason's _Replacement_ , as he called him. He played it off, simply shouldered his bag, and headed out.

* * *

Tim didn’t see Jason until Sunday. He’d been busy enough with everything-- mainly catching up on some much-needed sleep and spending time with his parents.

Well, not really.

He’d hugged his mother briefly but she pulled away with a frown and had passed a hand over her skirt muttering about wrinkles. He hadn’t attempted to hug his father.

They were tired, he amended. They snapped at Tim when he asked too many questions, but their trip had been long and they needed rest. They could talk later.

And then they’d left. They’d left Sunday when they were supposed to leave Wednesday because Tim had a parent-teacher conference Tuesday, and they’d promised him they’d go. And that was fine, too. They’d had a long flight. They had to work. They couldn’t always make it. They’d make it next time. They’d just forgotten.

But that didn’t change the fact that Tim still wasn’t supposed to go back out until Wednesday night. Bruce insisted he stay with his parents when they came back. He wouldn’t come crying to Bruce that his parents had left not even two days after coming back without even _mentioning_ the parent-teacher conference.

He wasn’t that pathetic.

He wasn’t incompetent. 

He could take care of himself.

He just couldn’t stand the stifling emptiness of his house or its deafening silence. 

Tim had sat on the bottom step in the main foyer, eyes burning and chest hitching with sobs and tears that refused to come. 

Just a brief goodbye. No warm hugs, kisses on the forehead, barely any words spoken before his parents left. He wanted to know what his mother’s perfume smelled like. He wanted to know how his father’s stubble felt against his cheek when he hugged him. He wanted to know if long embraces felt as warm as they looked on TV.

Instead, he just sat there, on the marble step in his big, empty house full of everything except love and warmth. 

Tim buried his face in his arms crossed over his knees.

He stayed like that for a long time, until the lump in his throat lessened and he stopped shaking. The sun was setting and the shadows in the house were already lengthening.

He couldn’t stay in this house. Not when he’d planned on eating dinner with his parents, planned a movie night, and had even picked out a movie about archaeology so that his parents would stay interested. He’d planned board games, had pulled them out of their cabinet, he’d even considered telling his parents about photography club and show them his pictures. 

Now, he couldn’t stand being in the empty house where he’d planned things with his parents they hadn’t gotten the chance to do.

He was being selfish. They were busy, they had to keep Drake Industries running, they had to do their jobs. Tim just got in the way, he knew that. 

He would get better grades, he promised himself as he zipped up his fleece jacket. he’d be even better in class. They’ll take the time to congratulate him when they came back, he was sure of it.

He shoved his feet into his battered high tops and left the house. After locking the door behind him, he slipped his house keys in his camera bag and started making his way to the bus stop.

  
  


Gotham was usually overcast in the fall, with freezing torrential rains that came with living on the coastline. October was usually the month that brought the most rain, but Tim had gone out on one of the rare days where there was no rain, just clouds hanging low and threatening. The air in Crime Alley that usually smelled of rotting garbage and car exhaust was replaced with the strong smell of wet cement. 

Tim splashed through puddles making the hem of his jeans slightly wet.

“Crime Alley isn’t safe to travel alone or at night, kid,” a low voice rumbled when Tim rounded a corner into a side street partially hidden in shadows.

Tim froze on the spot, wondering whether he should run or just try to diffuse the situation before it can escalate. The street he’d gone in was half blanketed by inky shadows where a streetlight’s fuse must’ve blown. Tim couldn’t see who the voice belonged to yet, just their dark shape further into the shadows, but they were in front of him and they seemed alone. He could turn and run if the need arose. 

“Jeez, relax. I ain’t gonna kidnap you,” the voice said.

And Tim knew that voice. It was _Jason’s_ voice. He relaxed a bit and then remembered that Jason’s voice was also Red Hood’s voice.

“Jay?” he asked softly

“The one and only.” Jason pushed himself off the brick wall and stepped out of the shadows. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Tim breathed out in relief and suddenly felt annoyed. “I’m pretty sure you did,” he snarked back, shoving his shaking hands in his jacket pockets.

Jason was still wearing the same red hoodie he’d worn Thursday when he’d sat at Tim’s booth, but this time he wore a leather jacket over it to protect himself from the cold wind blowing in from the harbor. Tim doubted the jacket and hoodie did much against the chill, though.

Jason chuckled at that, eyes flitting to the camera bag slung over his shoulder and back at his face.

“It’s getting pretty late for you to be out here, isn’t it?” he asked, a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

Tim matched with his own glare of suspicion and set of his jaw. “It’s not that late, and _I’m_ not the one who found you first. _Twice._ That was you both times, might I remind you.”

A semi amused smirk played on Jason’s lips. “Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Are you planning on seeing me a third time?”

Jason shrugged, once again leaning back against the wall and pulling out a knife from his hoodie pocket. Tim’s muscles locked at the flash of the blade, but Jason only began tossing it and catching it expertly.

“I don’t know. You tell me. You planning a third excursion in the most dangerous part of Gotham?”

One could easily argue that _every_ part of Gotham was dangerous, Crime Alley merely more so than any other area. It was a term of relativity, really.

“I’ve been doing this longer than you’d think,” he replied evenly, his fingers finding the strap of his camera bag and clenched tightly around it.

Jason briefly looked up, eyes a little greener under the orange streetlight. “Your parents know you’re out here?”

Tim gritted his teeth and stared at his shoes. No. They would find a way to take it away from him. They would probably take away his photos, too. He remembered accidentally spilling paint all over his new overalls when he was seven and his parents taking away his art supplies and every one of his paintings. He was _terrified_ of their reaction to him sneaking out and jumping from rooftop to rooftop across Gotham and Crime Alley chasing vigilantes. It was unbecoming of a Drake. 

His silence was answer enough for Jason, apparently.

“They’re still away?” he asked, his hand stilling, the blade tightly held in his grip. 

“They came back,” Tim said. _And then left again,_ he didn’t say.

“I’m sure--” 

“Can you please _stop_ assuming you know what my parents _think_ or what _I_ want?” Tim snapped.

He’d come here to escape his parents, not be interrogated by Jason Todd about them.

Jason fell silent and Tim looked up in a panic. 

_This isn’t home,_ he reminded himself. _You are allowed to talk back._

“S-sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t--”

“No,” Jason cut in harshly, making Tim flinch. From the way his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, Jason did not miss it. “No. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I was prying in stuff that was none of my business.”

Tim was dumbstruck. Jason was apologizing to him. _Jason Todd_ was apologizing. Forget that, _Robin_ was _talking to him._

“It-- It’s fine,” he managed. “I just wanted to go out and take pictures. It’s the one bit of freedom I _can’t_ lose.”

Jason set his jaw. “You aren’t just gonna go alone,” he said.

Tim blinked. “I’ve been doing this alone since--” since he was nine, which was probably not something he should tell Red Hood “--for a while. I was fine then, and I will be fine now. You don’t even know my name or where I live, so you can’t send me home.”

Jason sighed. “You aren’t going out alone,” he repeated.

Tim started backing away and Jason scowled. “If you run,” he warned. “I will break both of your legs.”

Tim swallowed. “You don’t hurt kids,” he tried.

Except when they’re Robin. Except when they were named Timothy Jackson Drake.

Jason exhaled harshly. “You’re aggravating enough that I just might.”

Tim stumbled back, tripped over a stray empty beer bottle, and careened backward. He would have hit the rough cement if Jason’s arm hadn’t shot out and grabbed his forearm. Tim regained his footing and put some space between him and Jason just as a precaution.

“Thanks,” he breathed.

“Don’t crack your head open on the pavement, kid. Leslie’s clinic closes at 6 on Sundays.”

Tim’s face twitched. Yeah, he knew that, he knew when her clinic closed at night and when it opened in the morning. He didn’t tell Jason that, just kept quiet. 

“My--” he licked his dry lips, knowing just how bad of an idea this was. “My name’s Tim,” he said. “Uh-- I know yours and you don’t know mine.”

Jason squinted at Tim and he froze. Jason knew his name as Robin, he’d called it across the rooftop when they’d been locked in a heated fight three weeks ago. He’d froze when the Red Hood had called his name loud and clear and Jason had taken the opportunity to shoot Tim in the shoulder, dangerously and deliberately close to the artery. If Jason had known his name, then he knew they’d been neighbors, he knew his parents were Jack and Janet Drake of Drake Industries, he knew he had black hair and blue eyes and that he’d turned fifteen three months ago.

And Tim had just told Jason his name. He was _such_ an idiot. He prepared himself to bolt, to lose himself in the crowd and go back home, screw taking pictures tonight. A rematch with Red Hood without his body armor or his staff would not end well. He’d seen how well the second Robin could out in a fight, and how much better he’d gotten as Red Hood, and Tim knew he had no chance of winning. 

“Is there a problem?” he asked, daring to hope Jason wouldn’t recognize him.

Jason sighed and shook his head. “You just-- have the same name as someone I know.”

Tim laughed, half in the hysteria he’d worked himself into and half in shock. “Is your friend nice?”

Jason scowled. “He ain’t my friend,” he growled, and Tim dropped his smile.

He knew Jason didn’t like him-- all their encounters were proof of _that_ \-- but it still hurt deeply to have him actually say it. Robin, his _hero_ , hated his guts because he thought he’d taken his place. Jason could have Robin back. Tim would give it to him, as long as it meant he wouldn’t hate him.

“Don’t look so down, Timmy, it’s not you I don’t like.”

Tim almost laughed again, but he was definitely going to start crying if he did. He was really not having a good day.

“Please don’t send me home,” he said, ignoring the forming lump in his throat. “I really don’t want to go home right now.”

He couldn’t go home. 

Jason heaved a deep breath. “Fine. but you still aren’t just gonna go out on your own.” Tim opened his mouth to protest but Jason held up his finger. “I’m tagging along to make sure you don’t die.”

Tim stared at him, speechless, and Jason scowled again, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

“Jesus, does _anyone_ do anything nice for you just because? For no reason other than the sake of being _nice?_ I’m just being nice, I’m not asking you to sell your fucking soul.”

“I-- I like to-- to take pictures from-- usually from above,” he said, choosing to ignore Jason's questions.

“Well then, the fire escape is right there, all you gotta do is climb.”

Tim blinked. He’d expected Jason to be more-- against the idea of Tim scaling buildings to take pictures. Jason stepped past him and jumped, grabbing hold of the rusty fire escape and pulling it down with a thunderous creaking that made Tim cringe. Jason practically ran up the rickety staircase and Tim followed after him quickly, while trying to remain as quiet as he could. It was only ten, but this was an apartment building, and he didn’t want to wake anyone up. A worry that Jason very clearly didn’t have. 

Tim was slightly out of breath by the time he joined Jason on the roof, but that was quickly forgotten when he took in the sights of the city around him.

It had been forever since he’d gotten the chance to go out as Tim Drake and just take pictures of Gotham without worrying about getting shot by a mobster. It was nice. He felt relaxed and calm. He’d been so stressed this past week, and this excursion was long overdue.

He unzipped his camera bag and pulled out his camera, first slinging it around his neck before adjusting the focus and zoom. 

He went around the roof, taking in different angles, starting with the perfect view of the downtown skyscrapers in the distance. One of them had purple and red LED lights running up its sides. On the opposite side, Tim had the perfect view of the building that had blown up during Firefly’s attack last Thursday. There was always something haunting about capturing an image of an apartment building that had been blown up and not yet fixed-- the concrete pillars holding up the structure like bones, crumbling stone still partially forming what used to be walls. 

He looked up and glanced behind him only to see Jason standing exactly where he’d been, eyes following Tim’s moves. 

He shot him a nervous smile and Jason inclined his head slightly. 

Tim peered over the sides of the building, trying to see if anyone was out and about. He couldn’t see anyone under the bright streetlights, but he wasn’t too disappointed. He’d snapped pictures of a couple and their dog sitting at a cafe table earlier, and a little boy asleep in his father’s arms. He stood there, the cold wind whipping his hair in his eyes, as he flicked back through his pictures, smiling faintly.

“Can I see?” Jason asked from right behind Tim.

He jumped, startled and a little alarmed that he hadn’t heard him approach.

“Um, y-yeah. Sure.”

He angled his camera to the left so that Jason could peer over his shoulder as he reviewed all the pictures he took, mentally sorting out the ones he was going to print out. Tim didn’t delete any photos. Not even the blurry ones. He digitalized every single one, but only printed out a select few that he preferred.

Jason whistled. “Damn, you ain’t half bad at this, kiddo.”

Tim flushed brightly. “Thanks,” he said lamely. “Um, I--I was actually planning on heading home, so yo-- you don’t have to….follow me.”

Jason made a face. “Aw, and just when I thought my Sunday was gonna get exciting.”

Tim shrugged, shoving his camera back in its bag with shaking hands. He was still terribly anxious that Jason would find out he was Robin at any given moment, and at the same time he was living on cloud nine because _Robin_ had just told him he was _good_ at taking pictures. 

“Hey, look, if you aren’t in a rush to get home, I could buy you a chili dog, there’s a stand nearby--”

Tim almost dropped his camera bag. 

“Chili dogs?” he asked, immediately shooting to his full height. He regretted it, with the sudden rush of blood to his head that made him dizzy.

Tim could see the second Jason went on the defensive, the way his jaw tightened and his dark eyebrows tugged together.

“It’s just an offer, seeing as how your folks don’t seem to care whether you’re home or out here.”

Tim scowled, but the pressure in his chest was back. It was at this moment that his stomach chose to rumble and remind Tim that he’d been hoping to have dinner with his parents tonight but left before getting the chance to eat anything.

“I wouldn’t mind a chili dog,” he admitted. “But I can pay.”

Jason looked like he was about to argue, but eventually let it slide. “Fine. Let’s just get off this roof before a gust of wind blows your skinny ass away.”

* * *

Bruce and Dick didn’t talk much about Jason. It was their way to deal with the grief, and Tim respected that. He never asked questions when he was told to stop, no matter how much he was burning with the need to know, the need to find out what kind of person his hero had been.

And maybe that was why he hadn’t yet told Dick and Bruce that Jason was alive and was the Red Hood. 

Babs knew. She didn’t tell Tim she knew, but she was Oracle. She must’ve seen that footage. And maybe there was a reason why she hadn’t blabbed. Whatever it was, Tim was grateful for her.

But there was one person who talked about Jason. 

Alfred didn’t deal with his grief by crying and then locking it away so it wouldn’t be able to hurt him. Alfred talked about Jason, and Tim supposed that no matter how grateful Tim was to have someone willingly tell him about the second Robin, Alfred must have been infinitely more grateful to have someone to listen to it. 

Tim had never experienced grief that way. His grandmother had died when he was eight, and he remembered the funeral, and his mother’s carefully blank face, never betraying grief for her mother. All his other grandparents were already dead and his parents had been only children, so as far as Tim knew, there would be no funerals to attend. He’d grieved Jason as his hero, as someone he’d wished he could have gotten to know better, but he would never grieve him like a brother, like a son, or like a grandson. 

Alfred told him that Jason loved cooking. Apparently, he’d cooked for himself and his mother when she was unable to move in her drugged state, and Alfred had been glad he was even willing to cook after that. Tim had found out that Jason had loved school, and that he’d loved reading. He devoured the classics in the library just as avidly as the books Dick brought whenever he came to visit the Manor and for holidays. He’d found out that Jason had made a tiramisu for Bruce on his birthday once. He’d found out that Jason’s favorite classic novel had been To Kill A Mockingbird, and that his favorite novel of all time was The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman. 

Which was exactly why Tim was sitting in the same diner booth where Jason had first found him, with his study packet on To Kill A Mockingbird, hoping Jason would come by and help him study for his test in two days. He knew he could ace that test and that the more time he spent around Jason the likelier it became Jason would find out that _he_ was Timothy Jackson Drake, Robin. Except, the chance to hang out with Jason had fallen in Tim’s lap and he wasn’t sure he was ready to give it up so easily.

It was around eleven-thirty, so the diner was bustling with activity, though the company was slowly dwindling. It was raining hard outside, the streets empty and lit up by orange streetlights and the occasional passing car. Tim stared at the rain, his cappuccino warming his cold hands. He’d set the study packet and his pencil case on the table and his bookbag and raincoat on the bench next to him.

“You’re here again?” Jason’s familiar voice asked.

Tim glanced over and smiled. “Yep! I was actually waiting for you.”

Jason raised an eyebrow as he took a seat. “Oh? Is that so?”

Tim nodded. “Best way to do that is to steal “your” booth,” he explained, making air quotes.

“Har har, make fun of me. Why were you waiting for me?”

Tim shoved his coffee to the side and slid his packet to Jason. “I need help for my test in English on Thursday.”

Jason blinked at the packet, before looking up sharply. “So you come to me?”

Tim shrugged. “My parents think I can study on my own,” he said. “And you’re always hanging around me whenever I go to Crime Alley.”

“So you equate that to me becoming your private tutor?”

Tim grinned. “No. Tutors get paid.”

Jason glared at him. “Don’t poke a sleeping bear, kid.”

“If you’re not gonna help me, then I‘ll just go home,” he said. “You really don’t have to.”

He reached for the packet, but Jason pulled it closer to his chest. 

“You’re lucky I liked English, kid,” he spat out and Tim brightened up at that.

“So you’re gonna help?” he asked, unable to keep all of the giddiness out of his voice.

“Only because I like this book and got the best grade on the fucking test, okay?”

Tim nodded, eyes wide. Jason leafed through the packet, glanced over the questions and excerpts and the essay prompts. Tim had finished the packet just yesterday, and no matter how confident he was that he would get a good grade, getting someone to proof-read settled his buzzing nerves. His brows furrowed as he read over some of Tim’s sentences.

“Good evening, can I get you anything to eat?” a waitress asked.

Jason didn’t look up. “Just a tea and chocolate chip pancakes.” He nodded at Tim, eyes still fixed on the packet. “Order what you want. You’re paying.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “More coffee, please?” 

The waitress snapped her notepad shut and left with Tim’s empty cup.

“I was kidding,” Tim said. “I can pay you.”

At this, Jason did look up, only to give Tim a look that asked, ‘are you being serious right now you idiot?’

“Do I look like I need your money?” he asked.

Seeing that Jason was still wearing the same red hoodie frayed at the sleeves and hem, Tim wanted to answer yes. 

Seeing that Tim valued his life at the moment, he muttered, “no.”

“Good. I don’t need money, payment is buying dinner.”

Tim could do with that. He fiddled with his mechanical pencil, tapping the tip against the table softly, occasionally casting a glance at Jason.

“Is it...good?” he eventually asked.

Jason set the paper down. “Overall, it’s pretty good,” he said. 

“But?” Tim prompted.

 _"But_ you could use some stronger arguments in your mock essay. In your essay in general. The questions, you’ll do great. It’s the essay that I have a few issues with. your arguments are too weak, your examples too broad, and your conclusion is both an absolute mess and just a pleasant rewording of your introduction.”

Tim let a faint smile slip through his blank mask. _Robin was helping him with his English!_ He’d wondered what it would be like to have had Jason around if he’d gotten the chance to talk to him. Sure, then Tim wouldn’t have become a placeholder for Jason, but Jason himself would have lost a lot less.

Jason waited until their waitress brought them their drinks and food before they got to work.

* * *

  
  


“If you’re gonna take pictures of the people, you should get to know some of them,” Jason drawled, his legs swinging over the edge of a building. “Have you even talked to any of them, or do you just sit up on your rooftop and take pictures of them?”

Tim blushed, but the cold wind that already tinted his cheeks and nose bright pink thankfully hid it.

“I _do_ talk to them,” he said, focusing his camera on a little girl petting a stray dog with thick matted fur. 

Jason snorted and Tim tried his best not to look up to snap at him. Pictures, he reminded himself. He had patrol with Bruce tomorrow night, and he had too many upcoming tests to go out this week, so this was the only opportunity he had.

He actually had talked to some of them. He was friendly with some of the kinder nightclub owners. The prostitutes on Oakley Street who’d caught him taking pictures of them when he was ten had quickly warmed up to him. He had money to give and always tried to give what he had to a few of the homeless people he passed by and sometimes asked if it was okay to take a picture of them. He was familiar with most of Crime Alley’s most down on their luck, so yes, Tim talked to them.

He took a few more shots while ignoring Jason’s quips before he decided he’d gotten enough shots from that rooftop.

“We need to go to Oakley,” he said. 

Jason’s mood shifted immediately. “Timmy, have you ever been to Oakley Street?”

Tim scowled. “I can keep myself safe,” he snapped. “I know most of the women there, anyway. They caught me taking pictures of them.”

He flushed brightly the second he realized how that sounded.

Jason’s scowl remained firmly in place, but he raised a single, amused eyebrow. “Oh? Taking pictures?”

“It didn’t come out right, okay?”

Jason scoffed and Tim’s face only reddened further.

“I’ll agree to take you to Oakley if you promise not to leave my side, okay?” Jason asked in a more serious tone. “The girls are nice, but it’s the men you have to watch out for. They’re all creepy bastards.”

They made their way back down the fire escape, avoiding the potted plants, jump ropes, and battered boxes of chalk left there by the inhabitants. 

They made their way down the streets, towards Oakley. Tim wasn’t planning on taking pictures, he’d just hadn’t gotten the chance to actually walk around Crime Alley very often since the new school year. 

“Do you know them?” he asked Jason. 

Jason sighed, and Tim couldn’t tell if there was a hint of sadness in it. “Yeah. A long time ago. There’s only so many ways a kid can find money to pay rent when his mom is drugged to high heaven, you know? But everyone was always very nice--’

He stopped talking and took a deep breath. 

“I’ve been around since I came back. I’ve been going around, helping where I could, you know? Some of these people need all the help they can get.”

On a whim, Tim leaned over and hugged Jason briefly before quickly pulling away. Jason’s steps faltered, but he kept on walking.

“You didn’t deserve that,” Tim said. “No one deserves that.”

Jason laughed, tilting his head up at the overcast night sky. Tim knew exactly why he was doing that but didn’t say anything.

“Can’t argue that,” he said. “But no one is doing anything about it.”

“Red Hood is,” Tim said. “He’s been-- he’s been good around here. People are less afraid.”

Jason stopped walking this time, and Tim didn’t acknowledge that either. He stopped, too.

“Look, we’re here,” he said.

Tim waited for the red to turn green and crossed the street, letting Jason collect his thoughts in peace. The curb was already crowded with women, most leaning against the wall and chatting with each other. A few were smoking. Jason caught up with Tim and matched his pace, his expression carefully blank.

Tim knew a few of them by name. Not all of them, but he didn’t mind. He would often come here just to talk with them because he felt safe with them. They were nice and always delighted to have someone to talk to.

“Timmy!” one of the women, Valerie, said, making her way towards theme with a bright smile. “Haven’t seen your face in a while.”

She brushed her hand through his hair and he smiled. Her thick auburn hair swept over a pale shoulder and her teal strapless dress made her hair stand out even more. She always looked pretty.

“I’ve been busy with school,” he said sheepishly. “I have a lot of work.”

Valerie smiled brightly. “Stay in school, kid. It’s important.”

Tim just ducked away, cheeks flushing. Jason was staring at him with raised eyebrows and a smirk. Valerie glanced up at Jason.

“Hello, stranger,” she said. “You’re apparently quite popular around here.”

Jason shrugged. “You gotta watch out for your own, you know?”

Her eyes softened. “I’m glad you got out, Jason.”

Jason didn’t reply, he just shoved his trembling hands in his pockets. Once again, Tim pretended he didn’t see it. He wasn’t sure it had been such a good idea, after all, to go here with Jason. It was clear he’d been here, that he’d also had to resort to selling himself just to get by. 

“I hear little Timbo here has been lurking around here taking pictures,” Jason said, collecting himself, winking.

Tim scowled and elbowed Jason in the ribs. 

Valerie laughed. “He’s been doing it since he was nine,” she said, shaking her head. “Hen was the one who found him lurking about, actually.”

Tim’s smile faded a bit. Hennessy had been well into her forties, with dark curly hair and she was always wearing orange when Tim saw her. She’d cared a lot about Tim and he had basked in that attention and care. She would always purse her lips in disapproval whenever he mentioned his parents. A few weeks before Jason had gone off to Ethiopia, one of Nessie’s friends had told Tim she’d been murdered by one of the men she’d left with.

Tim wasn’t stupid. Not after spending years chasing after Batman and Robin across Gotham and taking pictures of Gotham’s nightlife. Not after years spent in Crime Alley. He knew that prostitution was dangerous, and even more so in Gotham City.

“I miss Nessie,” Tim said softly.

Valerie sighed. “She’d be so proud to see how much you’ve grown, kiddo.”

Jason’s face was carefully blank, his eyes dark and calculating, going from Tim to Valerie. Tim felt a spark of hope. Maybe he’d go out as Red Hood and bring that asshole to justice. It was clear that Jason had known Valerie since he’d been young, and probably had known Hennessy.

Jason focused back on Valerie. “No one give you any trouble?”

She grinned proudly. “Nothing me and my girls couldn’t handle, Jay. And not since Red Hood showed up.”

Jason relaxed, his tense shoulders slumping. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “It’s--”

“I’m glad the Red Hood is keeping people in Crime Alley safe,” Tim piped in. “Everyone has a right to feel safe.”

Valerie’s eyes crinkled. “I’ll let you in on a secret kid, caring this much about us is the reason everyone loves you.”

Tim laughed, choosing to ignore how sad that sounded. “I thought it was because I was so adorable everyone wanted to adopt me?” he asked sweetly.

Valerie’s warm hand rested on the crown of his head and he smiled at the touch.

“There’s that, too.” She winked at him. “Where are you two headed?” she asked, turning to Jason.

He shrugged. “We haven’t really decided yet.”

“IHOP is open,” he said. “They have great waffles.”

Jason didn’t need to know that he knew that because he and Steph often snuck out after patrol and went to IHOP until they either left to go home or were forcibly removed from the premises for being too rowdy.

Valerie raised an eyebrow. “Make sure he still gets home at a reasonable time,” she said.

Tim frowned. “I’m fifteen,” he snapped.

“And you haven’t been keeping to a steady sleep schedule from your height,” she replied dryly.

“My mom is short,” Tim shot back. “I inherited her genes. And I have a fast metabolism. I _eat enough.”_

Nessy softened. “Just make sure he stays safe,” she told Jason, her voice wavering slightly.

Jason nodded, and even Tim didn’t say anything. Too many kids vanished off the streets, and rich kids were the most likely to get grabbed for a ransom call that Tim’s parents probably wouldn’t answer in time. Tim was very well aware of the risks. 

“Don’t worry, Val,” Jason smirked. “When have I ever failed to keep a kid safe?”

“Bye Valerie!” Tim called. “See you later!”

He waved as he and Jason crossed the street, and a few women on the sidewalk gave a quick wave. They walked in silence after that, Tim’s hands shoved firmly in his pockets and curled into fists.

“I didn’t know you were so familiar with Valerie and the girls,” Jason finally said.

Tim couldn’t detect a hint of anger or disappointment but he couldn’t fully suppress the flinch.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ve, uh, seen them around. ‘Specially Valerie. I like taking pictures of people. Um, they-- they each have a story, you know? People can be very expressive when they don’t think anyone’s looking at them.”

He fiddled with his camera strap. 

Jason hummed. “That’s a nice sentiment.”

And Tim knew he was screwed. There was definitely a note of anger in Jason’s voice. He bowed his head in shame and followed after him. 

Ten minutes later, they stepped inside an IHOP and sat in a booth. 

Tim firmly looked anywhere but at Jason. A waiter came over and Tim simply ordered a sweet tea, his stomach too knotted for any food. Jason ordered a latte for himself and turned back to Tim.

“Kid,” Jason sighed. “Please look at me.”

Tim kept his eyes glued to the table. 

“Fine. I’ll ask questions. All I need from you are simple yes or no answers, ‘kay?”

Tim nodded stiffly, eyes burning. He knew exactly where this was headed. He’d had this conversation with principals and counselors countless times. “Are your parents home?” “Are they gone often?” “Are you alone?” “Is everything okay at home?”

He’d learned to lie to them. They were strangers. He never saw them outside of convocations. But this was _Jason_. This was the Robin he’d idolized. This was his, dare he hope to assume, _friend._ Lies wouldn’t stand a chance.

“You’ve been going out taking pictures at night since you were nine?” he asked.

Tim nodded.

A sigh.

“Do your parents know?”

He shook his head. Of _course_ they didn’t. They would take it away from him, just like they’d take Robin away if they found out. If not for his safety, then for their reputations.

“Are you scared to go home?”

At this, Tim looked up sharply, a hint of panic blooming in his chest.

“They don’t hurt me,” he said.

Jason was calm, his face a mask of calm. 

“Everything is fine at home,” Tim went on. “My parents don’t-- don’t hit me, or anything. I-- nothing even _happened,_ okay? A lot of the people here are nice and I know how to avoid trouble. I can take care of myself.”

Jason didn’t groan in frustration, or roll his eyes at him, or call him out on his bullshit, call him a liar. He didn’t even get angry.

“Okay,” he said. “I believe you.”

Tim felt like he’d been struck by lightning. He felt a pressure build in his chest and a knot in his throat. Jason mistook Tim’s stunned silence for disbelief.

“Tim? I believe you, okay? If you say everything’s fine, then I won’t question it, okay?”

“Yo--you won’t?” Tim asked, and God, he really was going to start crying.

“No. It’s just--”

“I’m fifteen, I’m not completely clueless,” he said softly. “I know Crime Alley is dangerous. I’ve heard every variation of _that._ Trust me. I got the memo.”

Jason cracked a smile. “You need to go home soon? Your parents won’t notice?”

Tim shrugged, finally unfreezing. “Nah.”

They really wouldn’t. They were currently somewhere in Greenland. Some remote town whose name Tim couldn’t pronounce and his parents hadn’t written it down. 

“You got anything else going on in English?” Jason asked, pouring sugar in his tea.

“You could’ve asked for sweet tea,” Tim said, watching him pour the equivalent of at least six spoonfuls of sugar. 

Jason wrinkled his nose. “That shit? Not in fucking October.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “We started reading--” he froze, glancing up at Jason. “Well-- we--we’re only _talking_ about the author, for now, Edgar Allan Poe, but we’re… we’re gonna-- we’re reading the Cask of Amontillado.”

And Tim was an idiot. The _Cask of Amontillado?_ They talked about the story. And Tim _knew_ that Jason had to have read it. Or heard about it. Jason froze.

“The Cask of Amontillado?”

Tim grimaced. “I don’t really like small spaces,” he admitted. “I’m not super excited to read it.”

Jason snorted. “You and me both, kid.”

When the teacher talked about the story, notably its ending, Tim swore he’d stopped breathing. Because how could he get through that story? When Jason died buried in rubble and then woke up buried six feet in the ground? When Tim’s parents would lock him in the cellar whenever he had a tantrum when he’d been younger? When he still had nightmares of the door closing and leaving him in the dark, screaming and crying for hours before they let him out, asking him if he’d learned his lesson.

“I could call in sick,” he mused, poking the ice cubes in his tea with his straw. “The day we’re supposed to read the story.”

Jason drummed his fingers on the table tensely. He looked a thousand miles away, in his own head. 

“Don’t do that, kid,” he said. “It’s not that bad.”

Tim huffed. _“You’re_ not the one reading it.”

Jason didn’t reply, and Tim was starting to feel guilt pool in his stomach. He wanted to say something-- anything-- to make that faraway look in Jason’s eyes go away, but he’d reached his quota of empathy for the night. He wasn’t sure he could muster emotional support right now. 

“You should get home, Tim,” Jason said softly. 

The corners of Tim’s lips curled downwards. “Right,” he said.

He fished around his pockets and set a crumpled ten-dollar bill on the table before leaving, guilt ravaging his insides.

* * *

“So? What do you think?” Tim asked, swirling one of his fries into his chocolate milkshake before shoving it in his mouth.

Jason’s eyes were still scanning the words on the page. “That you’re an idiot,” he said.

Tim stared at him flatly. “You agreed to help. This isn’t helping.”

They were sitting in their usual booth in the back of Pepper’s Diner, and despite Tim’s protests, Jason had insisted they work on his short essay for The Cask of Amontillado together. 

Jason pushed the paper back towards Tim. “I am helping. I’m telling you it’s stupid. The prompt. Pick the second one. There’s more material there. Better ideas.”

“This one inspired me,” Tim said, tapping his pen on the rim of his milkshake. 

Jason raised an eyebrow. “What I read didn’t sound very _inspired,”_ he pointed out, stealing a few fries from Tim. “There are no real ideas and arguments provided, you’re just describing what Poe wrote. The question was clearly to identify the elements that created the story’s specific mood. Your arguments are weak.”

Tim glanced over his essay, frowning. “This story doesn’t inspire me,” he said.

In fact, The Cask of Amontillado did the very opposite of that. Tim felt shivers crawl up his skin whenever he thought about that story. The story itself had been unsettling enough, but even more so for Tim. He hadn’t mentioned what they were working on in English to Bruce and Dick for this specific reason, actually. Not after Jason’s reaction when Tim had told him. 

“Yeah, there’s a creepy feeling around the whole thing, sure, but this one. Okay, just listen with your thick head for a sec.” 

Jason plucked the paper from Tim’s hands. “Fortunato is dressed as a fool, and Montresor wears a ‘mask of black silk’. Explain why these costumes are appropriate for the roles they play in the story.”

He gave Tim a pointed look. Tim remained silent until he realized Jason wanted him to give him arguments.

“This isn’t fair,” he complained. “I can get a good grade with the prompt I chose! It’s not that bad.”

Jason frowned. “It’s not. It would get you a 93. 95 if you have a nice teacher. If you’re fine with that, then go for it. You’re the one who told me you wanted hundreds everywhere.”

Tim scowled. He wasn’t expecting to be _bullied_ for those hundreds. But his parents would notice. His grades would be _perfect._ They would notice and they’d stay home longer. It was all part of Tim’s plan, even if that meant suffering through analyzing one of the worst stories he’d ever read and Jason’s taunts.

“Fine,” he spat venomously. “In the eyes of Montresor, Fortunado is an idiot, and he’s in the wrong while Montresor is in the right and the self-proclaimed hero.”

Jason set the paper down, stole a pen from Tim’s case, and jotted down what Tim said. “We’re off to a good start. Don’t let me stop you.”

Tim read over the text and bounced ideas at Jason. Of course, for each Jason shot down, Tim had to find _another one._ He was quickly starting to reconsider his foolproof plan of getting only hundreds this six weeks. 

They sat there for two hours. Two whole hours of reading that fucking story over and over again, scanning words and having Jason ask him to develop his arguments more.

“I hate you with every fiber of my being,” Tim said, letting his head drop onto the table. 

Jason made an amused noise. “Sure. if I get you another diabetes milkshake, will you forgive me?”

Tim exhaled harshly. “Fine,” he bit out. “But I still hate you.”

Jason laughed. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“And I definitely won’t be the last if that’s how you treat all your friends,” Tim grumbled, closing his stinging eyes.

What time was it? Definitely had to be one in the morning. He was pretty sure it had been two hours, but it could’ve been longer--

“Look, I don’t care as long as we never have to talk about this cursed story ever again,” Jason said.

Tim laughed wearily. “You said it.”

Tim had taken to sleeping with his light on, unable to sit in the dark without terrible memories surfacing. He’d slept terribly, plagued by nightmares, and Bruce had voiced his concern about Tim’s need for sleep enough that it was safe to assume the shadows under his eyes were visible.

Jason didn’t look much better. He was acting cheerful, but Tim saw a certain weariness in the tight press of his lips and his furrowed eyebrows. He could see veiled pain in his eyes. 

Tim tilted his head so that his cheek was smushed against the cool tabletop instead of his nose and stared out the window.

“D’you think it’s gonna snow this year?” he asked, voice muffled by his position of choice.

“It sure is fucking cold enough for that,” Jason grumbled.

Tim smiled faintly, watching the people hurrying past the diner, clutching their jacket collars close around them against the strong gusts of wind that had been blowing through Gotham all day.

Tim hoped it would snow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i won't apologize for the angst. you should have seen it coming.

Tim’s parents left for Argentina late in October and came back two months later. They told Tim they were scheduled to leave for Zimbabwe in three days. 

By then, it was well past Christmas and Tim had been completely alone. It had snowed on Christmas day and Dick had texted him to come over so they could make snowmen in front of the Manor. Otherwise, he’d just sat in front of a fire he’d lit and stared at the flames. He'd let the hypnotizing flicker of the flames lull him to sleep slowly.

He’d startled awake at the ring of his doorbell. He sat up in the plush armchair and stretched, the joints in his back and elbows popping. He slid to his feet and trudged to the front door while rubbing his stiff neck.

He opened it and came face to face with Dick.

He panicked a little at the sight. “What are you doing here?” he hissed.

Dick was smiling broadly, bundled up in a thick blue puffer coat, a lavender knitted scarf, and knitted cap. Tim shivered when a freezing gust blew in. he was still in a sweater and flannel pajama bottoms, though he’d put on the fuzzy socks Dick had gotten him for Christmas. 

He’d gotten so many presents from Dick and Bruce, and even a pound cake from Alfred to take home to his parents when Tim had told them they were supposedly coming home this afternoon. They were not, he just didn’t want to impose. 

“I just came over to check if your parents were back,” he said. “You said they’d be here by two.”

Tim didn’t know what time it was, but it had to be well past two. The crisp blue of the winter sky was turning a powdery pink and the shadows were longer. His mind supplied a lie.

“No,” he said. “There was a snowstorm at their airport so all the flights are grounded until tomorrow morning.”

Dick’s smile faded and he rubbed a hand over his red nose and cheeks, trying to warm them.

“Ah,” he said, the jovial mood now suddenly awkward. “You know, we usually have a Christmas dinner on Christmas day because Alfred kept insisting even though I don’t celebrate Christmas and Bruce is Jewish, so if you want to come over, we’d all be more than happy to have you.”

Tim blinked, arguments already on the tip of his tongue and ready to fire, to give Dick every reason he shouldn’t, but he didn’t have it in himself to argue. He just didn’t want to be alone today. This wasn’t the first time his parents had missed Christmas, but this was the first time he had another family who offered to spend Christmas with him. 

“I’ll get my shoes and coat,” he said.

Dick’s warm smile could have melted the snow. “Awesome. I’ll wait here.”

He pulled Tim in a tight hug. There was a time these caught Tim so off-guard he’d freeze, at a complete loss at how to react. Now, wrapping his arms around Dick was practically second nature to him.

He rushed to the living room to grab his coat and scarf that he’d put to dry by the fire after his snowball fight with Dick and stumbled back to the front door to grab his snow boots. 

“You’re sure this is okay?” he asked Dick, lacing up his shoes.

“Tim, this is always okay,” Dick replied softly. “You’re welcome at the manor any time you want. You can come whenever you want.”

Tim stood up, wrapping his scarf over his nose. “Okay.”

Dick looked at him, unimpressed. “You’re a terrible liar. One day, you’ll believe me.”

He was wrong. Tim was a _great_ liar. It just turned out that lying to the people he loved was harder than he thought. 

“Maybe one day,” he said, not believing a single word he’d said.

  
  
  


“Okay, why the hell are you here, kid?” Jason asked.

Tim was standing next to the chili dog stand that Jason frequented the most, shivering and cold despite all the layers he was wearing. Dick insisted that he stay as warm as he could because getting sick sucked. Tim just liked having someone coddling him and fussing over him. It felt....nice. Foreign, but nice.

“It’s Christmas,” Tim said. Actually, it was the day after. “And you live alone, so I thought I’d give you something.”

Tim knew that Jason would celebrate Christmas alone. And he knew that as jaded and cynical Jason liked to pretend to be, it still hurt to be alone on a day known worldwide as a day to share with your loved ones. Tim’s family wasn’t overly religious, but Tim had consumed enough media to associate Christmas with love and family. He remembered the cold house, the tears shed over Christmas movies that passed on TV. Not even Jason was immune to the feeling of loneliness that came with being completely alone on Christmas while everyone else celebrated.

“You got me something?” Jason asked.

Tim nodded, unzipping his backpack and pulling out a wrapped gift. He’d wrapped gifts for Bruce, Dick, Alfred, and his parents, so by the time he took care of Jason’s, he was somewhat an expert at gift wrapping.

Jason took it, a strange look of longing on his face that further proved Tim’s point. He unwrapped it quickly, careful to avoid ripping the paper as much as he could. His breath caught when he pulled out the book. 

Tim felt his cheeks redden. He’d chosen a book he’d really enjoyed reading and had even double-checked with Alfred that Jason hadn’t read that book, but there was still a small chance he could have and Alfred just didn’t know.

“It’s one of my favorite books,” he mumbled, rocking back and forth on his feet.

Jason looked dumbstruck.

“It’s really not that bad a book, actually,” Tim said, chewing his lip. “It’s kind of a retelling of fairy tales, but it takes place in the future and it’s really well-written and--”

“Kid--” Jason said, and Tim fell silent immediately. “Kid, this is--”

Jason faltered. Tim stood there, still chewing on his lip hard enough that he might probably draw blood. 

“This is amazing,” Jason said, still staring at the book, one of his hands gripping the wrapping paper in a white-knuckle grip. “I-- you know, I haven’t gotten the chance to actually get back into reading for _months._ Thanks, Timber.”

Tim beamed, both at the nickname at Jason’s clear joy. He’d liked his gift, and he’d thanked Tim. 

“I’m really glad you liked it,” he said.

Jason finally looked up and smiled. “I’ll have to get you something, then, now that you got me something.”

“You really don’t have to. It’s fine. I have--”

Jason rolled his eyes and smacked Tim with the book. “Just shut up and say thank you. Remind me to teach you to start letting people give you things.”

Tim scowled. “I let people give me things.”

At that, Jason raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m right, you’re wrong. Let’s go somewhere warm, it colder than fucking death out here.”

Tim snorted. Only Jason would make ill-timed jokes about his death.

* * *

Tim barely managed to jump out of the sewer entrance and roll to the side when the bomb blew. The pavement cracked along the length of the sewer tunnel and there was a burst of flame and rubble that erupted from the sewer mouth. Tim curled in on himself, one arm covering his head and the other covering his stomach and other unprotected organs.

“Robin!” Nightwing called in the comms, his voice garbled slightly.

Comm was damaged. Great.

“Don’t scream in my ear,” he groaned. “They’re already ringing from the big boom.”

The crackling of the malfunctioning comm in his ear was bothersome and he half considered taking it out.

“Are you injured, Robin?” Batman’s rumbling voice asked.

Tim frowned. His head felt fuzzy and there was a headache that was making its presence known. “Probably a concussion. Got--” Tim sat up with a groan, his arms had the consistency of cooked pasta, but he managed to push himself up slightly. 

He inspected the rest of his body. His arms were covered in dozens of tiny nicks and the hem of his suit was slightly smoldered, but he was unharmed other than that.

“I’m fine.”

“Good. We’ll be at your location soon. Try to stay out of trouble.”

Tim hummed in response. This was probably fine. He took stock of his surroundings. He was in downtown Gotham he was fairly sure. The street was empty and there was a giant crack in the middle of the road caused by the explosion Tim had narrowly missed, but he didn’t remember _why_ there had been an explosion in the first place. He didn’t even know _why_ he’d been in the sewers, to begin with.

Sewers.

Sewers.

That usually meant Killer Croc. he liked sewers.

Something wet tickled Tim’s forehead and he reached up to wipe it off. He felt a bump and pain exploded behind his eyes when he pressed down a little too hard, his vision going white for a second before he was blinking stars out of his eyes.

Concussion. That was bad. If it was the sewers and Killer Croc, Tim would need to prepare to fight.

Where’d he put his staff?

He shifted onto his knees and glanced around for his staff. There were only broken chunks of asphalt and a large half-melted plate of metal that must’ve once been the sewer cover. He crawled forward a bit, his eye-catching a glint of metal and…bingo!

His staff was sitting a few feet away. 

He stumbled to his feet, his head spinning like a top, the bright orange streetlight and the flashing blue and red of police cars-- he didn’t remember the police arriving-- were blurring together in a rainbow of color that made his head ache. There was a dull whine in his ears that didn’t help, either.

He had almost reached his staff when a heavy boot kicked it away. 

He looked up sharply, making his vision swim and he stumbled back. When his eyes focused again he caught a glint of metallic red.

He squinted. His brain was sending really mixed signals. It was screaming _“friend!”_ and _“watch out!”_ at the same time.

“I don’t know what this is,” he muttered.

Or didn’t. He couldn’t hear his voice.

The red was a helmet. And it was connected to a body. Tim recognized the leather jacket. The figure came closer and even if Tim wanted to get away, he was too shell-shocked to run. He didn’t see the punch coming. He saw the fist coming towards his face too fast for him to register until it slammed into his jaw.

The punch packed such a force that he stumbled back and fell onto his back, pain bursting in a thousand colors across his vision.

“You know what it is, now?” the helmet asked, but his voice sounded so far away, like Tim’s head was underwater and everything was muffled.

He frowned. His memory still refused to work and his head felt like it was being split open by a jackhammer. 

“Friend?” he asked.

The helmet’s boot slammed into his side and he coughed, curling in on himself to protect his ribs. It didn’t help. The boot smashed against his side again.

Helmet crouched next to him and yanked his hair back harshly enough that Tim cried out. His head already hurt, this was just the icing on the cake. The hand tilted his head up so that Tim was staring directly at the white slits in the helmet.

“You ready to rethink the “friend” part yet?” the helmet growled, and suddenly the last piece of the puzzle clicked in place.

“Red Hood,” he mumbled. 

He felt less and less like his head was underwater, though his ears were still ringing faintly. He could hear sirens and frantic shouting.

“There we go,” Red Hood crooned. “A little memory jog for my favorite birdie.”

“Why’r’you… h’re?” Tim asked, his vision blurring a little. Why were there two Red Hoods?

Strong fingers grabbed his jaw and tilted his head towards him. “To put you back in your place, Replacement.”

Tim’s eyelids were heavy. He knew falling asleep was a bad idea, that there was a chance he wouldn’t wake up, but his head was killing him, his ribs were screaming, and the cuts all over his body were stinging in the cold air. Unconsciousness would take it all away. He’d be a thousand miles away floating in the void of his mind.

“Robin!” Nightwing shouted.

“Y’r br’th’r’s h’re,” Tim mumbled, his jaw still caught in Red Hood’s bruising grip.

They tightened as his words registered before something hard hit his cheek and his head snapped to the side, cheek scraping roughly against the asphalt.

“He ain’t my brother,” Red Hood snarled.

And then there was silence. There was the sound of a scuffle and someone shouting before a shape knelt next to Tim. he flinched when fingers ran through his hair, but he slowly melted into the touch.

“Robin?” Nightwing asked. “Can you keep your eyes open? B’s coming around with the Batmobile, you just have to stay awake, ‘kay?”

Tim grinned slowly, tilting his head painfully towards Nightwing. “‘S like the K’ty P’rry song,” he mumbled, his mind and thoughts sluggishly moving through molasses.

Nightwing chuckled. "Yeah, like the Katy Perry song. You gotta stay wide awake."

Tim hummed, trying to use what remained of his energy to do what Nightwing was telling him. He probably had a name. Tim couldn't remember.

"R'd Hood?" he asked.

The hand that was running through his hair stilled and he whined at the loss.

"He's gone. You don't have to worry about him."

His voice sounded stranger. Tim's mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls and opening it took a monumental effort, but it was at the moment his only way to stay somewhat awake. He'd long since been unable to force his eyelids open.

"H's y'r b'rth'r," he mumbled, barely over a murmur. Nightwing probably couldn't hear him.

"Yeah," he whispered, his hands going back to brushing through Tim's hair. "Yeah, he is."

There was a squeal of tires somewhere away from Tim's safe bubble of warmth.

"Oh. Batman's here, kiddo. Ready to go home?"

Home was empty. He wanted to go to the Manor with Nightwing and Batman. Batman lived in a manor? Tim thought he lived in a cave. 

"Don't fall asleep on us yet, kiddo," Nightwing said.

"Hm? Oh. S--sorry," Tim murmured, his grip on consciousness already slipping through his fingers like a bar of soap. 

Nightwing was calling his name, but Tim was already falling.

* * *

Despite Tim’s less than ideal meeting with Jason as Robin, he still wanted to see him. Right now, mostly to just get away from the manor where Dick and Bruce were locked in a heated argument.

They’d started arguing around noon, a few hours after Tim woke up from his drug-induced sleep and Alfred had brought him water and food while Dick told him what happened. 

He remembered bits and flashes. Killer Croc had been terrorizing people downtown and when they’d gotten there, they’d been split up almost immediately. Unfortunately for Tim, Killer Croc had found him first. He didn’t remember their fight, though he did remember Dick yelling at him to get out because there was a bomb. 

Apparently, his ears had been bleeding from the explosion and he’d gotten the head wound before the explosion. 

And of course, there had been Red Hood. His memory of their chat was fuzzy at best, but his sore ribs and bruised cheeks remembered it quite well.

Dick and Bruce started going at it in a corner of the Cave, in a shadowy corner far away from the medbay, probably intending to be quiet so that they wouldn’t disturb him. That had lasted all of fifteen minutes before Dick exploded at Bruce.

Tim’s parents never shouted at each other. Or, if they did, Tim had never heard it, or they hadn’t done it at Drake Manor. Though since their social status mattered so much to them, they wouldn’t argue anywhere else, so it was safe to assume they never argued. 

But the reason Tim had covered his ears, trying to block them out, before subsequently leaving the Cave entirely, was because he couldn’t chase away the image of his parents yelling at him. Yelling at him because he got a D because he’d been out late snapping pictures of Batman and Robin all week and had neglected his schoolwork. They’d yelled and his mother had slapped him before grabbing his wrist in a bruising grip, and Tim knew what that meant. They never touched him unless it meant they were going to drag him downstairs and throw him in the cellar, in the dark and damp cellar that brought Tim’s worst nightmares to life and leave him with no escape.

And telling himself that this was the manor and that Bruce and Dick would never do that to him as punishment hadn’t been enough.

Not when Dick and Bruce were shouting loud enough that Tim could hear it from his cot.

They were arguing about Jason. Because apparently, Bruce had known that Jason was back. He’d known since his face-off with him, which meant he’d known since before Tim.

And-- Dick was hurt. Jason had been his brother, and Bruce keeping it from him had hurt him. That’s what he’d been yelling at Bruce. 

And ten minutes in Dick’s furious screaming match, tears had started silently dripping down his face and his voice started breaking every so often. He was yelling and crying and Bruce was trying to calm him down. And Tim felt guilty because he’d hurt Dick, too. He’d known for months about Jason. He’d gotten to get to know Jason, without even telling Dick, or even Alfred, or Bruce. All because he’d wanted to get to know the Jason he’d spent years chasing before he’d died and come back filled with vengeance and anger.

Tim felt guilty enough that he’d hopped off the cot and made his way up to his room, taking the time to change into warmer clothes before announcing to Alfred that he was going back home. 

He wasn’t, but Alfred had his hands full that he probably wouldn’t check on him until Bruce and Dick stopped arguing, and that could take a while.

Tim started walking, planning a quick stroll around Bristol and then back, just to clear his head. He’d been so lost in thought he barely noticed he’d walked all the way past the bus stop and right into town. He stopped at an intersection, blinking owlishly around him. Was he still suffering lingering effects of the concussion he’d suffered? 

There wasn’t a lot he could do-- he had no money with him, no camera, and his phone was already at fifty-two percent-- the best he could do was walk around for a bit and walk back since he didn’t have his bus card, which he kept safe in the wallet he’d left at home.

He could always find Jason. 

Someone tugged at the sleeve of his coat and he glanced down to see a little girl no more than five or six with purple bows in her dark hair.

“Did you fight a monster?” she asked.

Tim stared, shocked speechless by the question. He eventually looked around to see if a parent was standing nearby, but no one was looking in their general direction.

“Where are your parents?” he asked something in his chest aching, for once on the other end of that question.

The little girl pointed at a row of ATMs lining the building across the sidewalk. “Over there,” she said. “Did you fight a monster or not?” she asked again, sounding more frustrated this time.

“Fight a-- oh,” Tim said dumbly. The bruises on one cheek, the skin of the other rubbed raw from when Red Hood had acquainted him with the sidewalk. The myriad of other bruises and injuries hidden underneath his layers. “Yeah,” he said. “It was a very bad monster.”

Her eyes widened. “Did you win?” she asked in awe.

No. No, he did not. In fact, he lost pretty miserably. 

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently. “I defeated the monster and then I forgave him and we had tea.”

She frowned. “You’re not supposed to forgive monsters.”

He smiled. “This monster just needed someone to be nice to him,” he said. 

She looked star-struck and Tim felt himself melt a little. Kind of like the Wicked Witch of the West when Dorothy poured water on her.

“Kelsey?” someone asked, and the little girl spun around.

Tim looked up to see a woman walk frantically towards them. 

“Mommy!” the little girl-- Kelsey apparently-- exclaimed. “Mommy, I made a new friend!”

Kelsey’s mom looked at Tim warily, her eyes lingering on his cheeks.

“He fought a monster and won,” Kelsey whispered to her mom in a loud whisper.

A blush overtook Tim’s face. “It was lovely meeting you, but I really have to go,” he mumbled, then quickly walked away, crossing the street at the nearest green light.

“Well well, if it isn’t my favorite photographer,” Jason said, sliding smoothly in front of Tim from behind, making him jump with a yelp.

His nerves were strung way too high.

“Don’t scare me like that,” he snapped. “How the hell do you find me every time? We aren’t even in Crime Alley.”

Jason shrugged nonchalantly. “I know the right people. Got eyes everywhere.” He nodded at Tim’s face. “The hell happened to _you?”_

Tim had gotten good at understanding Jason’s tone, just like with Bruce. It would have felt great to know that Jason cared this much about him, but right now, it was just funny. Saying, “ _oh, you know, just got a little beat up by your alter-ego, no biggie,”_ would be the worst possible thing to say, but Tim really wanted to say it. 

He shrugged. “Nothing.” 

Jason’s eyes narrowed, studying his face carefully, probably assessing whether or not he believed it. If there was one thing Tim had learned from hanging around Jason was that unless it was absolutely necessary-- last-resort type of necessary-- he wouldn’t question it if Tim asked him not to. 

After Dick and Bruce and every single teacher and member of the school administration constantly poked and prodded him with questions even when he said he didn’t want to talk about it, or that nothing was wrong, it felt nice to have someone step back and accept his answer.

"Alright," Jason finally said. "If you say so. I got enough going on as it is. ‘S long as it doesn’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” Tim promised.

Well, the best he could promise was that Jason wouldn’t see him if his face was bruised. Because then he’d pry. There could only be so many times Jason will let bruises slide before he starts asking questions. Tim’s ribs were already protesting from his long walk, but he’d hidden them enough times that he didn’t even grimace. Nowadays, Tim would write a note and forge his parents’ signatures when he knew he wouldn’t be able to participate in PE the next day. Before becoming Robin, though, if he accidentally smacked into a brick wall while jumping across a roof and bruised a rib, he would suffer through PE as best he could without raising suspicion.

“What were you really doing out here?” Tim asked.

Jason seemed relaxed, his pace leisurely, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his quilted jacket, but his eyes were stormy and there was a crease between his eyebrows. Tim was burning to ask his questions. Why did Jason hate him? Why was he trying to hurt him? But those were questions from Timothy Drake. Robin wasn’t buddies with Jason, and no matter how aware Tim was that the longer he let this little illusion go on, the worse it would hurt when Jason would find out. 

“Bookstore,” he said gruffly. 

Tim raised an eyebrow. “There aren’t any in Crime Alley?” 

Jason snorted. “None that had the second book.”

Tim frowned, nonplussed. “Second book of what?” 

“The book you got me for Christmas, genius,” Jason replied drily. “For an AP kid, you sure can be dumb sometimes.”

Tim scowled. “Now listen, it takes a lot of brainpower to be in AP classes. Sometimes, I just want my brain to be off, okay? I can’t brain all the time--”

Jason burst into boisterous laughter. “Jeez, kid, chill out, I was joking.”

Tim closed his mouth. “Oh,” he muttered, feeling pretty stupid. 

“Though you know what? AP classes _do_ take a lot of braining.” He slapped Tim’s back and he stumbled forward.

Tim could probably accompany Jason to the bookstore. There was one not far from where they were. Then he’d have to head home if he wanted to make it back before Alfred noticed he wasn’t home and Bruce and Dick went into a frenzy, assuming the worst had happened. It was funny because they’d probably assume that Red Hood had kidnapped him, when he was, in fact, hanging out with Red Hood of his own volition.

“So I take it you liked the book?” Tim asked.

He shrugged. “I wasn’t too sold on the idea of sci-fi fairy tales, but I gave it a try. It wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be.”

Tim grinned. “I knew you’d love it.”

“I never _once_ said--”

“I think Cinder is super cool.”

Jason sighed. “You know what, she really fucking is.” He scowled at Tim’s smug smile. “And that’s _all_ you’re gonna hear about it.”

Tim nodded. “Right. Of course.”

Jason eyed him. “Tone down the sarcasm, Timbit. That’s no way to treat your elders.”

Tim let out a startled laugh at Jason’s words. He was just a little amazed that _Jason Todd_ had not only read Tim’s favorite book but had actually liked it. No matter how long Tim had spent around Jason, the awestruck feeling still lingered, and Tim didn’t think it was going to go away any time soon.

* * *

Tim collapsed against the roof, his whole body shaking like a leaf. He let out a hysterical laugh. “Okay, let’s agree to never do that again,” he mumbled.

He sat there, trying to calm his beating heart and force the shaking away. It had been a close call. Too close. He laid on his back, barely noticing the gravel on the roof biting into the skin of his exposed arms. He tried counting his breathing, taking deep breaths to make his galloping heartbeat slow down.

“Can’t be safe for a Robin to fly so far from its nest,” a familiar voice drawled.

Tim bolted upright. “J--” he started, but stopped when he saw Jason in his Red Hood getup on the opposite end of the roof, the wind blowing through his worn leather jacket. “Red Hood,” he said, cautiously getting to his feet. 

And wow, it really was a show of how much hanging around Jason as Tim had changed his perspective of him. It took his brain a few seconds to remember that Red Hood hated Robin and _especially_ Tim Drake. And he was in his Robin costume. 

“Can we please do this another time?” he gasped out.

The pillar had fallen too close. Too close. It had almost crushed Tim. he’d gotten caught in that building as it had collapsed. The feeling of being stuck under a thousand tons of rubble, slowly suffocating from the cement dust and smoke, slowly being crushed to death in a dark and confined space-- it had rattled him more than he’d like to admit. 

“I’m sorry, does my presence in any way _inconvenience_ you?” Red Hood mocked.

 _Well yeah, a little bit,_ Tim almost said.

Jason-- no, Tim couldn’t, _wouldn’t,_ associate him with Jason. This was the Red Hood, and he was Robin-- slowly advanced. No secret identities. This wasn’t Jason who’d bought him hot apple cider and made him promise not to tell his parents that he’d let him drink alcohol. This wasn’t Jason who’d given him that photo album with doodles of stars and planets all over it in silver permanent marker.

He used his staff to stand upright, then leveled it at Red Hood, only slightly daunted by the gun he was holding in his hand and the many more strapped to his thighs and probably stuck in his jacket pockets. Tim had faced worse odds, but he’d also faced better odds, and Red Hood knew how to use those guns.

“You here for a rematch?” Tim asked, his eyes tracking Hood’s every movement.

He laughed. “I’d hardly call it a rematch, last time you were already taken out of commission. One bullet and you’d have been finished.”

Tim lowered his staff slightly. Hood was right. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d had plenty of opportunities to kill him after that explosion. It had to mean _something_ that Hood didn’t want him dead, _right?_

“So why didn’t you?” 

Hood faltered. “Why didn’t I _what,_ Replacement?” he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.

There was a high chance Tim could die for saying this, but he’d already dug his grave by asking, he might as well lie in it.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asked. He wished he could see his face, to see any spark of... _something_. Anything. Something familiar, something more than mindless hatred. “If you had the opportunity, why--” 

The fact that Red Hood actually shot him surprised him more than it should have. He’d really expected he’d finally gotten through to him. 

He gasped, clutching his side as blood gushed out of the wound. The sharp burning pain was easily replaced with numb tingling. 

Hood approached slowly and Tim stumbled back, his hand pressed hard into his side to try and staunch the flow. He’d have to contact Oracle, get Nightwing or Batman here quickly--

“What makes _you_ special?” Hood asked.

Tim raised his staff with one arm, keeping Red Hood at bay. His arm was trembling.

“What makes you special enough to be Robin? What made the great Batman choose _you?”_ he snarled. “Timothy Jackson Drake. Our little rich boy neighbor whose parents own Drake Industries. Is that it? That you’re loaded? Because there isn’t _anything_ special about _you.”_

In one swift move, Hood’s hand caught Tim’s staff and yanked it out of his hands sharply before he slammed his boot into Tim’s other unprotected side, knocking Tim to the ground, his bo staff clattering just within reach. 

There goes the rib. Again. Tim was tired of having his ribs broken all the time. Bones could sometimes be _annoyingly_ breakable.

Tim reached for his staff but Red Hood kicked it away.

“Let’s see how well you can defend yourself without your little stick, Replacement.”

Hood kept advancing and in a surge of adrenaline, Tim managed to rise to his feet.

“It’s not about being special,” he said, and his voice sounded much stronger than he’d anticipated. “And it was never about _replacing_ you.”

Tim heard Hood click off the gun’s safety and his blood turned to ice in his veins. He was already lightheaded and woozy from all the blood he was losing from the first shot. Just because he wasn’t aiming to kill didn’t mean he wasn’t aiming for permanent damage. And wherever Hood had been these past years, he’d certainly gotten better at fighting.

“Isn’t _that_ a sweet story,” Red Hood said, his grip tightening on the gun.

And Tim had promised not to show up with any more bruises on his face. He believed that a gunshot wound wouldn’t be step up.

He lunged at Hood, knocking him off-guard and taking them both down to the ground. He hissed as the movement jostled his ribs and the bullet lodged in his side, but he pushed off Hood as well and quickly as he could, limping towards the roof’s edge. He grabbed his bo staff, half because he didn’t feel like buying another and half because trudging back to the Batcave would be a task and a half. He’d use it as a support.

The roof came closer. He ducked on instinct just before Hood took a shot. The bullet whistled past his ear and his heart almost stopped. He didn’t dare look back when he jumped, firing his grapple gun and swinging away from Red Hood.

* * *

Tim didn’t feel like talking. 

He sat in the diner booth, alone, watching patrons and waitresses go by. He’d ordered himself a coffee so he wouldn’t be kicked out, but he hadn’t touched it. It sat in front of him, long gone cold. Tim felt empty and numb.

He’d been getting hundreds everywhere, on everything, since December. And his parents hadn’t said a thing. No congratulations, no presents, or going out to the restaurant to celebrate like his classmates at school said. “Mom and Dad took me to a fancy restaurant when they saw my report card”. “They got me a new phone”.

Tim had asked the teacher to go to the bathroom and spent the rest of the period crying, only coming back to tell the teacher he was feeling unwell. He’d cut class, had gone home, sent an email to his teachers using his mother’s email saying that he had a dentist’s appointment, before curling up in bed and staying there for the rest of the day.

He’d texted Bruce that he was spending time with his parents, spinning a beautiful lie to cover up an ugly truth. Bruce had believed him. 

He sighed, resting his cheek against the cool table. That felt nice. He hoped Jason got here soon. He hadn’t seen him in two weeks.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Jason sat in front of Tim, tilting his head to the side to meet Tim’s eyes.

“Who ate your bowl of sunshine, thundercloud?” he asked, pouting exaggeratedly.

“My parents,” Tim mumbled.

They’d left two days ago. They’d told him they’d be back in May. It was barely February. 

“Yeah, parents fuck you up.”

Tim huffed a laugh. “Not when they don’t pay attention to you.”

Jason sat up straight. “That’s a little concerning, but it was funny, so I’ll give you that.”

Tim didn’t say anything and Jason fell quiet. The silence was stagnant, the din of quiet chatter surrounding it.

“My parents sucked,” Jason eventually said. “Pretty sure everyone’s parents suck in some way. Some more than others. It’s like siblings. You live with them for eighteen years, there’s gotta be something that’s gonna annoy the living hell out of you.”

Tim snorted. You’d have to know your parents to know if there was something you didn’t like. Tim had a hole in his heart in the shape of his parents and he was trying to fill it with Bruce and Alfred. It wasn’t enough. He only spent a few hours at the manor, and he usually only stayed overnight or for a week when he was injured. 

“Come on, buddy. Timbaroo. Timber. Timtam. Give me something here. Your job is cheering me up, not the other way ‘round.”

“No,” he said.

Jason sat back, chewing the inside of his cheek. Finally, he gave up with a sigh and pulled out a book from an inside pocket in his jacket. He slid it across the table, but Tim didn’t lift his head to read the title.

“The Hobbit,” he said. “For that assignment in March.”

Tim would have asked how he knew that if he didn’t know that Jason had also gone to Gotham Academy. He’d gone to Ethiopia in April, so he must have done the assignment, too. And that made Tim sit up.

Jason laughed triumphantly, making a passing waiter glare at him. 

“What’d you do yours on?” he asked.

“American Gods, obviously.”

Tim picked up the book and opened it to the map page. “You’re obsessed.”

Jason scoffed. “Neil Gaiman owns my soul. I would sell the shriveled bit that remains for a new book.”

Tim thought it would be harder to differentiate the Jason he’d gotten to know and the Red Hood who kept trying to kill him, but they had such distinct and different personalities it was surprisingly easy.

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Obsessed,’ he mouthed at Jason, who rolled his eyes before reaching over the table and flicking Tim’s forehead. He slapped Jason’s hand away easily.

“Since you’re a huge book nerd,” Tim went on, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t think I’d be too far off to assume you know Elvish.”

Jason waved a hand lazily through the air. “Oh, you know. Picked it up a while back. As one does.”

Tim’s lip curved into a smile. “Naturally.” 

He looked at Jason, wondering what he’d been doing on April 27th all these years. The day you die isn’t something Tim believed could be easily forgotten. Bruce, Dick, and Alfred would shut down on that day. They’d just listlessly go through the motions. Dick would take time off from work and Bruce wouldn’t go on patrol. 

Jason glanced at his watch and winced. “I gotta scram, okay? Keep the book, it’s a great read, trust me.”

Jason rapped his knuckles twice on the table before standing up. Tim tried to hide the disappointment curling in his gut. 

“Yeah, I should probably head home soon myself,” he said halfheartedly.

Jason ruffled his hair as he left. “Take care, kid.”

Tim was once again left alone with only his thoughts for company. He glanced at the book in his hands. Continuing his pity party for one was incredibly tempting. It was the weekend, which meant he was only busy patrolling on Saturday, so he had all the time in the world to mope. It would be so easy to just lay in bed all weekend and cry while watching the Lion King.

He heaved a deep sigh, snatched the book off the table and headed to the bar to pay for his coffee. Screw Jason and screw that book in particular.

* * *

Tim wanted to sleep.

He rubbed a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes until a kaleidoscope of colors exploded behind his eyelids. 

He hadn’t been sleeping well, and for once it wasn’t because of school. In fact, it was summer vacation as of three days ago, so he had more time to hang out with the Titans and go on missions, finally freed from finals and AP classes, ready to start the cycle of hell all over again in August. 

The reason he’d been having trouble sleeping was actually because of Red Hood. he’d managed to corner Batman and Robin a month ago in April and hadn’t been seen since. Neither had Jason. Tim had walked around Crime Alley more and more frequently, gone to their usual diner more frequently, and had even asked around for Jason. They’d seen him around, but never for long had been the common answer. 

Jason was planning something as Red Hood. Tim hadn’t been stupid enough not to notice. Or maybe Jason was avoiding him. Maybe he’d found out that he’d been meeting Robin a few times a week for almost a whole schoolyear this whole time. 

Tim was at Titans Tower for the weekend, and Batman was probably patrolling Gotham with Nightwing. Tim was finishing up the report of their latest case alone. It wasn’t a surprise everyone had turned in or just sought their own company. The mission had been especially hard.

It was nearing four now and Tim’s eyes wouldn’t stop itching and watering the longer he stared at the bright screen, but he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when he was so close.

A presence entered the room and Tim jumped to his feet automatically, brandishing his staff only to come face to face with Red Hood.

“Hood,” Tim snarled.

Or he’d _meant_ to snarl it, but he was caught in a mix of relief and terror.

“Why are you here?” he asked, backing away slowly. There was an emergency alarm button in every room of the building in case anyone was in trouble or needed everyone to mobilize quickly. If only he could reach it.

Red Hood chuckled darkly. “You don’t sound so thrilled to see me, Replacement,” he said, advancing slowly, and Tim’s mind flashed to a predator toying with its prey before attacking. “After all the efforts I put in this meeting.”

Tim felt dizzy. “What did you do?” 

Hood let out a mirthless laugh. “Relax. They’re just asleep. Will be for the next few hours. It’s not _them_ you should be worried about.”

Tim stumbled back as Hood advanced. “Jason,” he pleaded. “Don’t do this.”

Jason paused, then tilted his head, and for once Tim was glad he couldn’t see his face. He didn’t want to see the expression on Jason’s face.

“This? I’ve been wanting to do that since I found out Bruce so lovingly replaced me.”

Tim was backed against the wall and Jason kept advancing, slow and deliberate.

“Oh, the things I could do to you. We have all the time in the world.”

A shiver ran up Tim’s spine. He was distracted enough that he didn’t see the punch. Jason rammed him back into the cement wall hard enough that Tim heard a distinct crack before his chest burned. He gasped and stumbled when Jason pulled back.

He swiped his staff at Jason’s head and heard a satisfying crack before Jason swore loudly. Tim took it as his cue to run. 

He took off down the hall, trying to think of what he could do to hide. Jason-- how had he gotten in?

“Running? How very brave of you, Robin,” Jason called out from behind him. 

Tim wrapped an arm around his middle, trying to stop the two or three broken ribs from getting jostled around too much. 

If-- oh. They hadn’t changed the access codes to the Tower when Jason died. Granted, it had been fair of them not to assume Jason would come back from the dead with a newfound howling rage and hatred for Batman and Robin.

Tim stumbled into a room and shut the door as quietly as he could behind him before frantically looking around. He was in an empty room with only a long table, that offered little to no protection. He ran to the opposite side of the room and yanked the door open.

He found himself in the hallway leading to the staircases. He gripped the railing on the balustrade and looked down. He was only three floors up, but if Jason decided to toss him over, he’d definitely break a bone. His neck even. He could crack his skull open--

First order of business was figuring out his next move. 

Tim leaned against a pillar and allowed himself to catch his breath. He needed to contact Batman, the Justice League, anyone. Superman was off-world, Kon had said. It was clear Jason was here for him and him alone. He’d give himself up if he didn’t believe that Bruce finding another Robin bleeding out in that suit would shatter him.

The door slammed open. Tim didn’t even turn to look, he just started running, praying he’d make it to the staircase, praying he’d make it to the landing and out of the building. He doubted being outside would deter Jason, but it would hopefully make him restrain himself a little. Hopefully.

There was a gunshot, echoing loudly around the hall and around Tim’s head before fire exploded in his leg. His vision went white and he went down hard. He hadn’t quite reached the stairs, but he’d been close enough that when he fell, he tumbled down the steps. His world spun and spun and spun in a dizzying array of maddening colors before they were halted when his back hit the wall at the bottom of the stairs, driving all the air out of his lungs. 

He gasped for air, attempting to roll over on his hands and knees, ignoring the aches and pains, the urge to get up and run almost overpowering his frayed nerves.

Jason roughly grabbed him by his cape and tossed him down the second flight of stairs.

“Jason, stop,” Tim wheezed, his lungs refusing to work and take in air, his vision narrowing and fuzzing out at the edges.

“Hm, funny. That's what I begged to that clown.” He hoisted Tim up by the front of his suit, bringing him inches from his helmet. “You know what? He didn’t stop. So why should I? After all, it takes being beaten to death and blown up to be recognized as...what did that case say? A good soldier.”

He practically threw Tim down the last flight of stairs and two more ribs buckled. This time he couldn’t quite suppress the yelp.

He struggled to his feet and faced Jason. He wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Jason, stop! You don’t hurt kids. Don’t do this.”

“Do you really think that applies to you? You fight crime every night with dear old Bats. surely you can handle this.”

Tim scowled. He lunged at Jason, knowing already that it was a losing battle. He swung his bo staff at Jason, catching his helmet again, and deepening the crack.

“Mother _fucker,”_ Jason growled, yanking it off and tossing it to the side, revealing a black domino mask under the helmet.

Tim faltered. “You wear a mask under your helmet?” he asked.

The white streak and familiar set of his jaw accidentally catching him off-guard. He was fighting the person who’d helped him work on English essays for months. It was a little disconcerting.

Jason scowled. “There are idiots like you who crack my helmet in half, Replacement. God, Bruce really didn’t choose a smart one, huh?”

Tim was going to argue back, but he had spent _months_ hanging out with Red Hood, so really, was the statement that far off?

He lunged again, a hit aimed for Jason’s stomach. All his injuries made him slow; Jason grabbed his staff easily and wrenched it out of his hands.

Tim didn’t have time to jump into a defensive stance before Jason shoved him into the pillar. He’d barely managed to twist around to avoid damaging his ribs further-- a punctured lung would definitely not be recommendable in this situation. He hit the pillar hard enough that it cracked. Fire pulsed from where his shoulder collided and he screamed. It was either dislocated or he’d broken a bone. Neither one was looking too good for him. 

He struggled to his knees, his arm cradled in his lap as he tried to scoot away from Jason.

Jason swung Tim’s staff. 

It whistled through the air and slammed into Tim’s upper torso, sending him colliding harshly with the ground from the momentum. He heard a snap and a dozen needles of fire poked his skin around his collarbone. 

He screamed again. 

Jason tossed the staff to the side. The clattering against the hard floor echoed sharply in the room. Tim tried to muffle his groans of pain as he pushed himself upright and attempted to push himself as far away from Jason as possible.

Jason approached and then crouched and Tim flinched. Jason grabbed a fistful of Tim’s uniform and yanked him forward. Tim bit back a whimper of pain as his numerous broken bones pulsed in pain. 

Jason tore off the Robin insignia before letting go of the uniform. Tim crumpled to the ground like a rag doll. His body was shaking and he tried to curl around his injuries, closing his eyes to try and forget the fiery agony that was ripping through his nerves.

“I don’t hurt kids,” Jason said, and Tim almost scoffed. “I hurt the asswipes who think they can get away with hurting kids. Or innocents. Because I know what it’s like. And so does Bruce. But did he kill that fucking clown?”

He pulled out his gun and furiously emptied the clip into the wall.

“No! That asshole let him _live._ He’s not even in Blackgate. He’s in _Arkham._ As if that sick fuck can ever get better.”

His laugh was cruel and bitter and Tim cringed at the sound. He’d unfurled from his fetal position and had struggled to his feet, using a ruined pillar as support. He hated how his breath trembled, how close he was to breaking down in front of Jason.

Everything was too much for Tim to handle. He’d thought he could deal with Jason and Red Hood, treat them as different people. But they weren’t. They both hated him, in and out of costume. 

Jason didn’t hurt kids.

Tim wasn’t even sixteen. He’d just finished _ninth grade._ And _no one_ had cared. Except for Bruce and Alfred in passing. 

“I _am_ a kid, Jason!” he snapped, hanging on the pillar for dear life. “I’m a kid, too. I go to school, I don't have a lot of friends outside the Titans, and I just want to have _something._ To have someone there. Someone who pays attention to me! I don’t--” his voice caught. He’d never said it out loud before. “I don’t get it from my parents, I just thought I’d _finally_ get it with Bruce and Dick. It would have been better with you, but you were _dead_ . You were dead and _no one_ was okay! Everyone was falling apart, Jason! You have _no idea_ just how much you _do_ matter to them. More than I ever could, and that’s okay! I just--” when had Tim started crying? “I just wanted to know how it felt. To be needed like that.”

Jason was shaking. He tossed the gun on the ground and Tim flinched. And somehow that made him cry harder.

“No!’ he yelled.

He reached up and peeled off the domino, letting it fall silently to the ground as Tim’s lies unraveled one by one. 

“No,” he said. “You don’t understand Jason. You said you didn’t hurt kids.”

He didn’t want to look up and see the look on Jason’s face. A look he’d put there.

“I said that so you wouldn’t regret hurting me. You can have Robin back. I just--” Tim’s breath hitched. “If it means you won’t hate Bruce anymore, then you can have it back. I was never-- I was never supposed to be permanent. I was always going to leave.”

“Kid--” Jason said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Tim’s head whipped up and he saw Jason standing there, his face white in horror, his fists clenched into tight fists.

“Bruce and Dick and Alfred miss you. You have _no idea.”_

Jason shook his head. “That’s not--” His shoulders slumped in defeat, his eyes no longer the rageful acidic green he’d seen on occasion, but the more subdued teal. “This whole time--”  
Tim flinched, averting his gaze again. “I knew the whole time. I wanted--” he choked and coughed to chase it away. “I wanted to get to know you as Jason Todd, not Red Hood.”

“You--” 

Jason turned around and punched a pillar hard enough that it cracked and Tim jumped. 

“God _dammit!”_ Jason screamed, punching it again. “God- _fucking--”_

He exhaled. He whirled around and Tim flinched again, barely resisting the urge to stumble back. He would fall if he did. The pillar was his only support. One of his legs shot and limp, the one bearing most of his weight had turned into Jell-O. Jason faltered. 

“Tim, I am _so--”_

“If you hadn’t known me, would you have stopped?”

Jason flinched and didn’t make another move towards Tim. “No,” he admitted. “I saw Robin, and I-- I wanted to hurt Bruce. And if I hadn’t known you outside of Robin, I wouldn’t have stopped. Because I don’t know how to stop anymore.”

“Bruce mentioned a Lazarus Pit,” Tim whispered. 

Jason flinched. “It made me--I can’t stop feeling this _rage_ inside me. Towards Bruce. Towards you. Towards the _League--”_

Reluctantly, Tim let go of the pillar and limped painfully to Jason. He grabbed hold of his arm to avoid losing balance.

“Go back to the Manor. They won’t hate you, I promise. At the very least, Alfred won’t.”

Jason reached forward and Tim flinched. Jason dropped his arm. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It will be okay,” Tim assured him. “I’ll call Bruce.”

Jason winced. “Let me patch you up a little first,” he said. “I’m not-- God, Bruce is going to _kill me_ if he sees you like that.”

Tim’s lip quirked into a smile. Things will be okay, he decided. Maybe not right now, maybe not soon, but Tim didn’t doubt things would be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bookworm Jason owns my entire heart.
> 
> (also, the book Tim got Jason is Cinder from the Lunar Chronicles because I recently talked about it with a friend and I decided "why not?" and added it to the story)

**Author's Note:**

> [you can say hi on tumblr :)](https://blas-ph-emy.tumblr.com/)


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